


Prompt #6 (90-Prompt Challenge)

by GlitterBombLove



Series: Prompts - 90 Challenge [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Study, Fantasy, Flash Fic, Prompt Fic, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28116879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterBombLove/pseuds/GlitterBombLove
Summary: Prompt #6Genre: FantasyDecember 16, 2020Prompt Idea: ParadePrompt Source: Original
Series: Prompts - 90 Challenge [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052597





	1. Chapter 1

"Feed your cravings! Apple sausages! Spun honey cakes! Sizzled maple bacon puffs!" My brother Aylan called out. He hoisted a large basket on his head shouldered through the crowd waiting for the start of the celebration parade. So far we had sold decently, we got a few coins for every dozen snack packages we sold for a local merchant. Today people had an appetite and were loose with their money. 

He dumped a few packages into my small basket. We had a system. After I sold my one or two packages, he would refill my basket. He carried the bulk of the products not only because he could carry more, but because he could block the thieves and cheats who tried to help themselves to a free snack and not pay for it. I had seen him slap a few people over the head who dared to steal from us. Others must have seen too because no one crossed him after awhile. He was better built to defend our goods.

He was big for his age and already a head taller than most in the crowd. He was already getting stubble and patches of hair on his face. I thought it was impressive at the time and wanted him to grow a full out beard. But in retrospect -- I think he did not shave his face because no one was around to show him how to do it and he was too ashamed ask another male for help. No one was there there to show us how to become a man.

"Delicious cravings! Sweets! Savories!" My brother shouted at the crowd. "Watch you step, Dream Boy. Do you want to be run over?"

His hand shot across my chest and roughly shoved me back. Boy was always his nickname for me. Dream Boy. Pretty Boy. Smart Boy. Book Boy. Silly Boy. He was rarely nasty about the name calling -- but he has called me Clumsy Boy or Stupid Boy in annoyance. 

It was good he held me back though because a few parade goers were knocked onto the ground when red powdered dust seemed to explode from nowhere and dozens of enormous white stallions emerged, clopping through the clouds and down the street. The horses were adorned with red velvet stirrups and plumes of feathers crowning their heads. They pulled the most opulent float of roses and gardenias. A large cannon pointing upwards was positioned on the float. The horses seemed unfazed and continued their staccato prancing even as the cannon thundered and shot multi-colored powder skyward. Glitter and powder descended in rainbows down upon the crowd. People cheered and squealed in delight.

The parade was just beginning. People were eager to celebrate the coronation of our new monarch - the Jester King. 

No one knew he was our father. 


	2. Jester King 2

I don't remember our father. My brother said father left us when mother told him she was having another baby -- so he was gone before I was born. It's rare Aylan reminisces about our father. Aylan doesn't like to talk about him. He was six years old when father left us behind. He has memories but he's so cheap about sharing them.

I have no memories. But I grew up always knowing about our father. I rely on my mother and brother for what I know about our father.

His presence is still in our home. My mother was able to save a few even after The Great Departure. My brother said one day our father just ... snapped. He came home and ransacked everything. Aylan describes it like a nervous breakdown. Our father raged and shattered, tore, broke and burned all traces of himself and us as a family. He left us for good.

There were some traces left behind. Our mother scatters them throughout the house and my brother hates it. She always tells stories -- the same stories-- over and over and over again. She's mounted above the fireplace. She arranged table and chairs to face the fireplace and pictures. We sit and eat -- side by side each night -- facing a warm fire and reliving the past with her. There are pictures of our father - grinning and handsome - hugging our mother. One picture has him dressed up as a Jester and our mother a beautiful princess for a production in their theatre troupe. Our father said The Jester King was his favorite role he ever played -- one reason because he met and fell in love with our mother during the production. The play was a failure and closed after only a few weeks. Few people probably remembered it. But to this day, my brother scoffed and called our father The Jester King.

We eat dinner like that each night. Occasionally my brother and mother argue.

"Blast him!" Aylan would protest when he could not control his temper any longer. "What has he ever done for us? He left us behind to struggle and starve. When we went begging at the palace last year, we could not get past the guards at the gates. Our father did not even want to see us. He denies he even knows us and sent us away when we begged him for help. Why do we have to still have his pictures here?"

"Because he's still your father." Our mother always answered softly. "The truth is the truth." Her voice is always gentle and her eyes looks at my father with dreamy expression. Her eyes would mist sometimes. She loved him after all these years.


End file.
